


Between you and me

by drinkingstars



Series: Time on my hands [2]
Category: British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Rocketman (2019) RPF, Scottish Actor RPF, Welsh Actor RPF
Genre: Drinking, Fanservice, Gareth is their stylist, M/M, Romantic Fluff, San Diego Comic-Con, Sign Language, but not too much, gratuitous celebrity name dropping, indulgent TV and film references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 21:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20234632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drinkingstars/pseuds/drinkingstars
Summary: I hope they don’t think they’re being subtle.





	Between you and me

Richard has ten identical, very posh black t-shirts in his case. Taron picks the softest and most worn one after they’ve cleaned up and repaired their hair as best they can. Richard puts on nice black jeans and brings the jacket Gareth chose for this look for later, thinks he looks properly presentable for the song and dance he has to go do. 

They have time for smoothies and iced coffees downstairs and Taron grabs two protein bars, makes Richard take one, just in case. “You’re a right bitch when you’re hungry, can’t have that,” Taron insists, sucking on his iced coffee and following Richard along the corridor. Richard starts to protest but he really can’t, tamps down whatever he was about to say and rolls his eyes. Taron peeps, “thought so,” and grins at him. 

“Arsehole,” Richard says, but he’s smiling behind his sunglasses.

They find a service entrance and pop outside so Richard can sneak in two cigarettes with the waitstaff and bellhops on their break, having a laugh and calming his nerves. A _ terribly _ attractive bartender with a dilute but still detectable British accent of some extraction finishes his smoke at the same time and nods discreetly for them to come with him. He leads them through the kitchen to the bar for two neat shots of Balvenie, then escorts them the back way to the underground parking garage where they meet their security and their cars. Richard slips an American twenty in his apron pocket, gives him a friendly back slap and a “cheers, mate.” He gives them both a parting once over that is _ clearly _ an open invitation, winking at Taron as he turns to go back to work, and, well, Richard _ can’t _ fault him for trying.

They wait with Angelina and Lauren after some moderately awkward intros all around and Richard feels anxious again already, wishes he could be less of a wanker and just hold Taron’s hand, or at least have another smoke. 

Angelina looks them over, her eyes narrowing on Taron, and Richard can see the wheels turning. She finally asks him, “you in this movie now too?” 

Taron ducks his head and turns on the charm. “God I guess I might could be? I’ll probably find out when we get there. Have you got a script I could look over?”

She laughs delightedly and darts a raised eyebrow at Richard. Richard just shrugs, because of course _ he _ knows Taron’s fucking adorable. 

“He’s with me.” Richard says it simply, glancing at Taron as the next SUV pulls up. Lauren’s interpreter communicates a flurry of signs to her, and Lauren looks at Angelina with the same raised eyebrow then back at Richard with an impressed smile. 

He fucking _ blushes_, hoping that the terrible lighting in the parking garage makes it less visible than it feels on his face, clenches his jaw and smoothly steps up to open the car door for them in a practiced, now ingrained move.

Lauren’s interpreter leans in, speaking under her breath to Angelina, still signing back and forth with Lauren and _ all _ of them are _ giggling _ as they climb into the car. 

Richard stands by to close their door, despite the security guy’s protest that he’s supposed to do that. “He literally can’t help himself, best to just let him,” Taron offers in explanation as Richard gives a respectful nod and a thick Scottish _ ma’am _ and shuts them safely inside, Angelina still looking at him with pious amusement. 

Her window slides down before they move anywhere, and she leans out to let them in on it. “Lauren just said ‘I hope they don’t think they’re being subtle.’”

Taron coughs a laugh from behind Richard, flings his arm over his back. “We’re not. Not even trying, really, not in the slightest,” he grins and Angelina laughs and rolls her window up as their car pulls away. 

“You’re gonna need to learn sign language, mate.” Taron says, ribbing Richard gently in the chest with his knuckles. 

“Already started to do. How do you do tha?” Richard asks Taron, alone for a moment while their copper pretends not to see or hear them and their car pulls up. 

“Do what?” 

“Ya make everything seem...like it’s ok. Yer not worried?”

Taron furrows his brow. “Worried about the bigger picture of life? Constantly. Worried about this? Not for a second.” Richard opens their door himself and Taron hops in, slides over and holds out his hand. 

*

They’re making out just a wee bit when their car finally navigates through the closed streets and brings them to a very unglamorous and somewhat creepy loading dock in the bowels of the Convention Center. Their copper takes them to a freight elevator where they’re briefly alone and can make out again. Then they’re delivered to the entire fucking Marvel team, and it’s time for Richard to go to work.

“I’ll be around, out there somewhere...you’re great, you’re brilliant. Go charm the shit out of everyone,” Taron says, soothing and squeezing Richard’s hand before he pulls away to go meet his publicist. 

Richard gnaws on his bottom lip for a moment then thinks _ fuck it _ and pulls Taron in for one quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Ye look really good in my shirt, T,” he grins and winks. 

“Behave. I won’t be far, promise. I’ll meet you at the party, yeah?” Taron pulls out his phone and checks the time. 

“I’ve probably got some kind of dinner thing. Ah’m at their beck and call now. I’ll text when I’m done,” Richard says, maybe being overly clingy but he doesn’t really care, doesn’t want to let Taron go even in the midst of all these people.

“I know our job, love. Don’t worry about me for a second. Go and give them Richard Madden. I’ll get my Dickie later.” Taron winks and mouths one more kiss at him, sends him off with a pat on his bum. 

Richard takes a steadying breath and pulls a shiny vape pen out of his jacket pocket. He hits it twice, and goes to join up with his _ new _ new family for the next eighteen months of his life.

*

There’s a blur of greetings and hugs and handshakes with harried executives, introductions of names it’ll take him a while to learn, then a good bit of hurry up and wait before they actually go out onstage. Richard fidgets, nowhere to sneak off for a smoke now, and finally slides his phone out of his pocket to glance at his texts.

_ just found the BEST thing on my phone _

_gonna post it in a sec - hurry up kevin feige! get the sexy ppl out there_

Richard smiles to himself and sends back, fast as he can type, ‘watch it he could be your boss one day too.’

_ oh wait...yeah I’m out here not onstage. guess i’m not in this film after all _ :(

_ love you mate see you on the other side _

Richard types, ‘love ye t’ and hits send. And then it’s show time.

*

When Taron finally gets to the party, it is very crowded, very loud, and Taron looks very good. Richard’s going to kiss Gareth right on the mouth for this one, next time he sees him. Taron has changed into a silky white scoop neck tank cut incredibly low, oi _ gods_, and a soft, shiny blue shirt that he’s wearing all the way open at his chest. Richard feels his face light up when he spots him, tries to feign attentiveness to whomever he’s talking to but probably isn’t very convincing. Taron makes his way through the throng of people outside the bungalow, drink already in hand, and Richard excuses himself to go and grab him.

Taron wraps him in his arms and kisses him hello like it’s been weeks, not hours, and Richard closes his eyes, lets himself cling to Taron and smiles into his warmth, hardly minding the camera flashes he can sense even through closed eyelids. 

Taron doesn’t let go, so Richard doesn’t either. It’ll be a damn good picture, at least.

They mingle and chat and Richard introduces him around to anyone Taron doesn’t know, some people he’s just met while he was waiting. Richard finds the other smokers, of course, and they disappear behind the bungalow to indulge but he doesn’t leave Taron long. 

There are tons of people from all different networks and shows and movies and countries, all united by coolly freaking out over Lin-Manuel Miranda. There are plenty of drinks flowing, and it’s really a pretty proper do. 

Richard can’t wait to leave.

Taron catches him by the elbow, maybe reading his mind or just really knowing how to pick his moments. “Care to bail with me? My room’s right upstairs.”

“Aye, been ready. You’ve got a minibar ye haven’t emptied yet, right?”

“Follow me and find out,” Taron says, pokes his tongue in his cheek and turns on his heel, Richard close behind. 

The only people they run into in the hallway are stumbling drunk into the bathrooms to get high or looking for places to hook up themselves. Richard feels Taron’s hand at the small of his back as he leans in to swipe his keycard against the pad. It feels protective, and loving, and Richard can barely wait until they’re inside the lift to kiss him. 

There’s a security camera, so he doesn’t go full cinematic make-out up against the wall, though it _ is _ tempting, just tilts Taron’s chin down and angles his mouth over his and presses once, twice. Taron hauls him right up against his body, slides his hands inside Richard’s jacket, and he makes himself pull back when Taron licks into his mouth, a terrible loss but it’s a long ride to the twelfth floor and they will definitely be in a state if he doesn’t stop now. Taron grumbles and curls his fingers at Richard’s side, clutching and digging into his ribs under very expensive denim and Richard clears his throat, glares over his browline at the intrusive camera. It feels like fucking forever.

Taron’s door is all the way at the end of the hall and Richard drapes himself dramatically over Taron’s back while he keys them in. “Are ya going to make it, love,” Taron teases him, turning to wedge one shoulder inside the door to shove it open, one arm under Richard’s arm and around his back, kissing him rough along his stubbled jaw and dragging him inside. 

Once the door has swung shut Richard does take the opportunity to press Taron up against the closest wall and kiss him with everything he’s got, and it’s just as good as he was imagining. Taron lets his head hit the wall as Richard licks his mouth open, gives Taron his tongue to suck and squirms against his body when he feels him pull it into his warm, sweet mouth. He wedges his knee between Taron’s thighs and holds him there, gets his hands under the open shirt and slides it right off Taron’s broad shoulders like he’s been wanting to all night. 

“Why do you look so fuckin good ta me today, T? Fucking christ, California suits ya,” Richard drawls against Taron’s face and neck in between kisses, gripping him by the arms and crowding them impossibly closer together. 

Taron groans, grinds himself shamelessly onto Richard’s thigh and slides his tongue into his mouth, both of them breathing hard already, Taron clutching at his hips. He brings his hands up Richard’s sides to his chest and takes hold of his jacket, shoves it off down his arms. Richard breaks their kiss to help get the sleeves off because one cuff is caught on his stupid expensive watch, and Taron laughs, presses his lips to mouth at Richard’s cheek and ducks against his shoulder, just hugging him again while Richard fights with the denim.

“Fuck, T, could help me at least,” Richard laughs and shucks it off on the floor, takes Taron’s face back in his hands and tilts his face up to kiss him again, still laughing softly against his mouth.

Taron rubs his hands up Richard’s back, lets them rove up under his soft, fancy t-shirt, his fingers again finding the slots between Richard’s ribs and fitting along them, a spot he seems to really favor. Richard sighs at his touch and smiles, dazed, when Taron finally pulls back from kissing, settles against the wall and just looks at Richard. His eyes are heavy, but clear, just tired from the long day Richard thinks. He’s tired too, takes Taron’s hands into his and just holds them there, looking at him for a second. 

“Do you fancy a drink?” Taron asks, finally pushing himself away from the wall and hugging into Richard’s body as he leads him into his hotel room. 

“Aye, just the one though.” Richard kicks his shoes off on the way, takes his watch off too and eyes the bottle of Laphroaig 25 on Taron’s mirrored bar. He lets out a slow whistle, lays his watch and phone down on the dresser. “God damn who sent tha?” Richard has to ask. 

“The new bosses. Don’t know where they got the idea I like Scotch,” Taron says with a wink, peeling away the foil around the cork stopper and prying it open. He pours a couple fingers of whisky into two glasses, opens a bottle of water from the tiny hotel fridge and adds a wee dram, no more, to each. He swirls both glasses a few times and hands one to Richard. “I’m not going to get ice, it’s too far,” he apologizes. 

Richard sits on the bed and takes the glass from his hand, stares at him blankly for a moment.

“I’m _ Scottish_,” he says, clutching his heart in deep offense, lifting the glass to inhale: smoke, peat, tobacco, something sweet, maybe apples, fill his nose. He raises his glass to meet Taron’s. “To Netflix money. Slàinte mhath.” 

Taron snorts a little laugh and clinks his glass against Richard’s. 

“To _ Marvel _ money, iechyd da, my love.” 

Richard’s eyes crinkle at the corners and he grins into his glass, takes a long sip. “Touché,” Richard says, swallowing and cocking his head to the side. “Fuck me that’s good.”

Taron sits beside him, lays his head on his shoulder. “I was worried you were too tired.”

Richard rolls his eyes when he pieces together what they’ve each just said. “Too tired for you? C’mon love ah’m not tha old.” Richard pours a good measure of his Scotch down his throat and sets the glass down carefully next to the bed, then stretches out alongside Taron while he finishes his drink. “Ah’m just resting,” Richard insists, twisting from his middle and craning his neck to peek up at Taron. Taron smiles around a sip of Scotch, nods mysteriously to himself, and sets his glass down too, kneeling up on the bed and pressing Richard back down, settling him flat onto the bed. 

“You _ are _ too tired,” Taron says sadly, pushing his hands into Richard’s lower back and beginning to knead his muscles there, right at the top of his ass.

“Ah’m not. Ah swear ta god, T, when have ah ever been too knackered to fuck?” Richard asks, makes a pillow on his arms and rests his face there while Taron digs his strong fingers into his flesh. He’s sore from workouts in the days before, and from long international flights, and Taron’s hands are magic.

“That one Soho House night -” Taron begins and Richard laughs into his arms, cuts him off immediately.

“Nae, I was too _ drunk _ ta fuck and that was a very different and very...unfortunate situation we promised not tae speak of, ah, love -” Richard is abruptly cut off mid-sentence by the soft press of Taron’s lips at the small of his back, the sensitive, almost ticklish spot at the very top of the cleft of his ass. Richard shuts up and settles again, relaxes under Taron’s touch for whatever he has in mind.

“Shove up, yeah a good bit,” Taron asks him, nudging Richard to move and they both kind of drag their way up the bed until Richard is fully stretched out face down and Taron is behind him, still massaging up his back and sides, rucking up his t-shirt and dropping kisses along his spine. “Take this, yeah, off,” Taron says, lifting the sides of his black t-shirt and helping get it over Richard’s head, resuming his slow strokes of the muscles of Richard’s back and dipping down to his ass. “You’re gorgeous Dickie. Un bloody real.” Richard shivers with pleasure, then feels Taron’s weight moving from the bed. “Take your pants off, love, I’ll be right back,” Taron says, one hand under the curve of Richard’s left arse cheek, bending to place a kiss on the back of his neck as he gets off the bed.

“So romantic, love, god,” Richard teases him gently but he’s unzipping and shoving his jeans and underwear down and fussing with them til they free his legs and land on the floor in a pile.

“It’ll be romantic when I’m fucking you, fucking beautiful man,” Taron calls from the bathroom and Richard feels his face flush all the way to the tips of his ears. It’s ridiculous how Taron’s got him. 

He’s drifting somewhere between a reverie and those fleeting moments of pre-sleep that feel weightless and hazy when he feels Taron’s warm, strong hands back on him. He’s got something on his palms, oil or lotion, and he’s massaging it deeply into Richard’s lower back, his lats and obliques, like Taron knows where he’s been sore. His hands glide over Richard’s sides, down the curves of his glutes to the tops of his thighs, where Taron lets his hands roll in, massaging his hamstrings too and Richard might cry it feels so good, and like so much.

“T...yer spoilin’ me. Also you might legitimately relax me too much here if ye had something else in mind,” Richard murmurs into his folded arms, rolls his forehead back and forth too because it feels nice.

“What time’s your flight?” Taron asks, his voice rasping again and he coughs softly, clears his throat a little, then continues calmly sweeping and stroking his hands all the way up Richard’s major muscle groups and then centering his thumbs on either side of Richard’s spine and working his way down those.

“Ahh...ah think in the afternoon? One or two, somewhere about,” Richard says, turns to lay his head on his arms and try to look up at Taron. “Yeh alright love?”

“M’ really tired. Had a great seduction plan going here, dint it?” Taron admits, his voice sad, and Richard can hear it's going scratchy and hoarse again.

Richard laughs softly into the sheets, reaches up behind him with one arm to grab Taron by the hand and pull him half on top of him on the bed. He rolls over and situates Taron's limbs heavily across his body.

“Ah’m exhausted, love. And I always want ye, T,” Richard says, wrapping Taron in his arms and hooking one foot and calf around Taron’s legs just to be safe. “Since the beginning. Ye know that right? I don’t need a big seduction plan. Ah’m a sure thing.”

Taron laughs softly at Richard’s shoulder, settles his naked body alongside Richard’s in the cool, comfortable bed. “Now _ thas’ _ romantic, Dickie. Won’t that make you the hooker then?” 

Richard smiles into his pillow, doesn’t even open his eyes as he leans in no more than an inch to find Taron’s lips and kiss them. “Aye. Hooker with a heart a’ gold.”

“Does that make me Edward?” Taron curls into him, his hand over Richard’s heart, his voice almost gone.

Richard hums, feels Taron’s breath on his neck as sleep takes them. “Makes you the fairy tale.”


End file.
